The Woman in Black
by scousemuz1k
Summary: The team are sent to represent NCIS at a funeral, meet a woman who needs their help, and get more trouble than they bargained for. Team fic, no ships, Tony centric, team/OC friendship
1. Chapter 1

**AN: It's been a while since I put a disclaimer in; I don't own or profit from NCIS, but I love writing about it.**

**The city of Garston is a figment of course… I have a great deal of respect for police officers, and I'm certainly not going to pick a real city and write bad things about its police. Garston is actually a district in my own city, where my brother's a cop.**

The Woman in Black

By Scousemuz1k

It was a sign that he knew what he was asking of them, that Director Vance invited them to sit down in his office.

"I know you've had three weeks of back to back cases. But I can't go myself… neither can Deputy Director Ludwig. Prior commitments, end of story. But Commissioner Halliwell was a good friend to this agency, and it should have a representative at his funeral."

"But _four_ field agents, Director?" Gibbs was politely incredulous.

"Commissioner Halliwell's jurisdiction covered some of the prime area of our coastline for smuggling, trafficking, gun running… many of the cases his department handled involved Naval and Marine personnel, mostly as victims. At least two of your own cases were helped substantially by information supplied by the Commissioner's department. You'd be appropriate representatives."

"Besides," DiNozzo said mordantly, "We all look so good in black."

Vance looked at him sharply, but didn't react further; they all remembered the last time the whole team had attended a funeral together, and the many different heartaches that had led to, DiNozzo was probably entitled to the jab… he was only expressing what everyone else felt.

"It's a three hour flight down to Garston;" the Director went on, unperturbed. "Wednesday, the day after tomorrow; I'll authorise your stay in a decent hotel for tomorrow night so you can be fresh; and arrange to phone you half an hour into the reception to recall you at once, so you can make your escape. After that, you can have the rest of the week as down time, and I'll put someone else on standby over the weekend."

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully, and caught the look that DiNozzo was shooting him.

"Leon," the Supervisory agent said quizzically, "That's a big carrot."

"We could fly out early morning," Tony agreed, as McGee and Ziva shot each other puzzled looks. Why were the two senior agents havering over _down time_? "Why would it be important to be fresh? No-one would be looking at us."

"I was coming to that," Vance said cheerfully. "All I want you to do, since nobody _will_ be looking at you, is to look at everybody else."

Ziva decided to deal into the conversation. "What would we be looking for at a funeral?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, Miss David."

* * *

Which was how, immaculately turned out, the four sat inconspicuously near the back of the great granite Cathedral in Garston as it filled up, occupied by their own thoughts. The Director had been very cagey, and when pressed admitted he couldn't tell them much. Firstly, he'd said, he hadn't much to tell, and secondly, he didn't want to incline them to bias.

"Check in with me when you get back, I'll tell you what I can then. Don't get involved in anything. Just observe."

So they sat and observed. Gibbs resolutely did what he'd been asked to do, and refused to think of Shannon and Kelly's funeral, instead concentrating on the Top Brass as they arrived, thinking how many of them belonged to an old boys club and trying to spot the ones that didn't.

Tim tried, with some success, to spot the academics in the growing congregation; thinking he probably had the architects and engineers identified by their reaction to the building itself as they entered. However hit or miss his methods were, he observed that the intellectuals, for want of a better word, gravitated together, and tended to stay away from the brass.

Ziva looked at the splendid church, and thought of the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, and wondered if God wanted or needed splendour. She stole glances at the order of service, to find out what to expect, watched the citizens of her adopted country, and thought, not for the first time, of the winding road that had brought her to this point in her life. "Watch them," she told herself, "this is no time for introspection."

Tony tried to pick out families, and other relationships, not only among the great and the good at the front of the Cathedral, but among those who sat further back, with no pretensions to being noticed. The Commissioner had been a popular and well loved man, judging by the ordinary, for want of a better word, (and he'd have been surprised if he'd been reading Tim's thoughts,) people who had come to pay their respects.

It was because he was looking around him that he spotted the woman who entered alone, and then it wasn't simply because she was very beautiful that he couldn't take his eyes off her. The first thing he noticed was that the usher, instead of shaking her hand and giving her a service sheet, put his hand out to detain her, and questioned her, although Tony could not make out the words. She stood very straight, said something that looked fairly sharp, and stalked past him.

She was slim, of average height, or perhaps a little taller, wearing black leather knee-high boots with chunky three inch heels to accentuate her stature. Her hair was very dark brown, cut in layers down to her shoulders and styled with care. Her eyes were very dark, her cheekbones high, and the crimson on her full lips was her only source of colour. Her black, expensive Russian style coat was of high quality suede, with a big collar of long lambswool, and the figured scarf she wore to prevent the wool from irritating her neck, was French silk if Tony knew anything about buying gifts for women. The outfit was completed by a shoulder bag and close fitting gloves of soft black Cape leather. She was maybe thirty years of age, and Tony would have put money on her having Italian blood.

She could have been a model on a photo-shoot, but as he watched her lift her chin and march to a seat near some elderly ladies a row behind him, on the opposite side of the aisle, he knew that was nowhere near the case. That outfit, with not an inch of skin showing other than her face, and that bearing, said, or more like yelled, "Stay away from me. Don't come near. Don't confront me."

She sat down, nodded politely to the two ladies, and Tony had no idea why he did what he did next. He told Gibbs later that his gut told him to, and he was probably right. He got up unhurriedly, went to the back of the church and took another order of service from the usher. He brought it back, gave it to the woman, said politely, "There you are, Ma'am," without even the ghost of the usual grin She looked startled, and thanked him quietly, and Tony went politely back to his own seat before she could react further.

Ziva glared at him as he sat down, but he shook his head at her. "I'm observing, Ziva," he said softly, again without an ounce of humour, and an unspoken warning for her to leave it. There was a situation here or his name wasn't DiNozzo. Money… distress… bravado… and the usher reluctant to admit her…

It wasn't easy watching out of the corner of his eye, but it was a technique he'd had to practise many times over the years. The woman took out a rosary, black again, and held it although she didn't seem to be using it. She seemed to be looking round her slowly, and her gaze stayed on the VIPs at the front from time to time, although it was impossible for Tony to tell if she was looking at anyone in particular.

He was alarmed to see, a few minutes later, her controlled face crumple into pain, and for a moment he didn't know why, until he realised that she was looking now at the organ. As he watched her with concern, he listened to the music; the organist had begun to play a piece he knew well, having put himself through university with any number of jobs including playing the piano in local restaurants and the organ in local churches.

Edvard Grieg's Second Elegiac Melody, Varen; in English, 'Last Spring', came floating sadly down through the church; it was one of the most heartbreaking pieces of music ever written, Tony thought, able to move many people to tears. Although the young woman opposite had her face back under control, her eyes were anguished and far away; there were tears on her cheeks, and he would have put money on them not being for the Commissioner.

Her eyes met his across the aisle momentarily, and all he could do was send her a look of concern. It wasn't rejected, but she looked away again after a moment. He wanted to dive across the aisle again to her side, but it was out of the question; he was relieved to see one of the ladies pat her arm kindly and hand her a delicate white handkerchief. "I bet it even smells of lavender," Tony thought irrelevantly, but he was happy to see that the attempt at comfort from her neighbour was not rejected.

He was unaware that Ziva was looking at him in exasperation, until Gibbs caught her expression. The Senior Agent asked him, in a low sharp voice across the top of his partner's head, if he was done checking out the women, and realised when Tony turned back to face him that he'd said the wrong thing. The SFA's eyes were flat and expressionless. "OK, Boss," he whispered. "You'd better watch her, then."

"Why's that?" Tony didn't answer, as the organ had faded to silence and the presiding priest was asking the congregation to rise for the entry of the cortege.

They continued to watch through the service, but none of them could say that they saw anything of note; the eulogies were glowing and exactly what you would have expected, spoken by exactly who you would have expected to speak them, it was a faultless, flawless occasion. From time to time, Tony glanced at the sad woman in her fine black coat, but her face gave away nothing. She stood with the congregation for the hymns, but didn't sing; her jaw seemed set like marble. Only her eyes spoke; of misery. Tony didn't know why, but he felt very anxious.

The cortege left, and the woman's eyes watched the coffin, as did everyone else's, but then it became difficult to watch her, as the Cathedral began to empty. Tim observed that people divided into clumps, like iron filings round the poles of a magnet; the Big Brass went first, expecting to be deferred to, then well-to-do people in sleek business suits, who McGee characterised as 'The Lawyers'. Quite unfair, he knew, but the group had to have a name.

Next came the younger and less senior police officers, and their peer groups from the other services, who Tim categorised as 'The Hopefuls', bright eyed and eager, to a man, promotion hunting written all over them. "You miserable cynic, McGee," he told himself, but he'd been bored with the soul-less service, and needed to amuse himself.

The academic representatives came next, 'Professi Nervosi', Tim decided; since one or two of them really did look ill at ease. Tim did spot several younger police officers who hung back in a group, and went out with the … "OK, what shall I call the rest of us, then? I'm getting bored with this. Right… they're the 'Splinter Group', and we're the… 'Restofus'. There."

Tony hadn't been able to watch the stylish woman closely, because of the people passing down the aisle between them; but he was pretty certain he'd seen one thing. He didn't recognise police insignia, although he'd remember what the guy wore and identify it later, but the man was high ranking, that was certain. He stopped alongside where the woman stood waiting to leave; Tony couldn't see his face, but knew that he'd said something, by the stiffness of the woman's shoulders and the wide eyed shock of the elderly lady behind her.

He almost moved forward protectively, but the woman simply said, as far as Tony could tell, "You're holding up the procession", and the man moved on. The woman closed her eyes for a moment, as if counting to ten, and the lady behind her put her hand on her arm tentatively. The 'Woman in Black' - (Why was he calling her that? Everyone in the church was wearing black… not with such style, though.) The woman seemed to appreciate her neighbour's concern, as she turned with the ghost of a smile, the first one Tony had seen; and then they were both lost to view as the crowd headed out of the church.

Tony looked over his shoulder at Gibbs. "I need to keep sight of her, Boss," and he didn't have to explain to Gibbs who he meant. "I think you need to come too." They joined the Restofus and began to ease their way out of the Cathedral. On the concourse outside, Tony caught sight of her again. She was talking to the two elderly friends, and by the body language seemed to be reassuring them that she'd be fine. They patted her arm and went on their way, and instantly the smile was gone from her face.

"Oh, no," Tony said in alarm; he could see the same Big Policeman bearing down on the woman from behind.

He started forward with the rest of the team behind him, Gibbs muttering, "Ya _will _explain, some time today, DiNozzo?"

"Soon as I can, Boss." The policeman grabbed the woman's arm from behind and spun her round to face him. Her heel caught slightly, and her ankle went over; she barely managed to keep her feet, but she drew herself up again. As they got closer they could hear the man's voice. "…..To realise that your interference isn't welcome. There's no conspiracy, how many times do you need to hear it?"

"Let go of my arm, please, Chief Wilson."

"Not until you understand that there's nothing you-"

"Is this woman bothering you, Chief?" One of McGee's Hopefuls was hovering, but before the Chief could reply, Tony stepped forward.

"No, she's not," he said calmly. "We all saw what happened, your boss instigated it, and it could have led to injury for the lady."

The two police officers saw what was very clearly a united front of four witnesses, and didn't even bother with a "who the hell are you", but turned and strode away before they attracted a crowd.

The woman sighed. "Thank you," she said, looking at Tony first. "It's quite possible I could have been arrested there for _him_ assaulting _me_! I don't know who you are…" she looked at all four of them questioningly, "You're obviously _somebody_, and I'm truly grateful, but you really should leave me alone now."

It was Gibbs who said in amazement, "Ya think? The minute we turn our backs, they'll be back. I don't know what their beef is with you, but I didn't see _you_ picking that fight." He flashed his badge. "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS."

As soon as he'd introduced the others, the woman said "Can we walk, Special Agent Gibbs? You and your colleagues really shouldn't take my part, but since I can't persuade you not to, if you could escort me to a taxi, I'd be grateful."

Tony said, "You didn't come in your own car, then?"

"No, Special Agent DiNozzo, I flew in then took a cab. You can get arrested driving your own car. Or, you can have an accident."

Ziva said, "An Accident?"

The other woman looked at her tiredly. "Do you think I'm paranoid, Special Agent David? You don't know the half of it. Please, if you would, just put me in a cab and forget you ever met me."


	2. Chapter 2

The Woman in Black

Chapter 2

The woman in black stopped almost in mid-stride, and her glance flicked round in alarm. She reminded Ziva strongly of a cornered horse, looking wildly for a direction in which to run; all because Gibbs, in an earnest desire to help, with what he wasn't even sure, but trusting Tony's instinct, said, "We're going to the airport. Come with us."

Ziva added helpfully, "We've checked out, our bags are in the trunk, we were only waiting to be polite at the reception. If you feel unsafe, perhaps you would be better with us to escort you."

The young woman wrestled with herself. "I'd like to trust you; you just helped me, and you don't know me, but what sort of a fool would I be to get into a car with strangers? Look, I can take care of myself. Please…"

"OK," Tony said soothingly, "Cab it is, then. If you're sure you'll be all right. But I saw what happened, before and after the service. Something's going on, and I'm worried about you." He looked round; they seemed to be unobserved, the mourners had gone to the graveside, and the other congregation were dispersing without looking their way. There was a cab rank close by, which was empty, but a cab came to a halt right on cue.

"I told you; it's best that you don't get involved. Thank you for your help."

She began to move towards the taxi, but Ziva said, "Wait!" Her tone was urgent, and she discreetly pushed her jacket away from her gun. "That taxi was parked across the road, a couple of blocks down. It moved off as it saw us approaching."

"Don't react," Tony said calmly, although he slid his hand closer to his gun, and waved casually to Tim, who was bringing their rental towards them; no-one had noticed him leave, except Tony, who'd asked him to go.

The woman flipped open her shoulder bag, so she could reach the Glock sitting inside it; but Gibbs said quietly, "We've not noticed anything amiss. We take our time." So, they squeezed unhurriedly into the compact, which Tim had had the forethought to point in the opposite direction from the one the cab was pointing in, and trundled slowly away.

"Nice work,McGee," Tony said. "The taxi driver also had a partner. When does a cabbie take a pal along?"

The woman in black leaned her head back against the restraint, and sighed. "Of course," she said, "the cab could have been a ploy to make me willing to jump into a car with you." They looked at her, and realised it was a desperate attempt at humour from someone who was near to cracking.

"We can hope they think we didn't notice anything," Tony said. "We can hope they think you thought we were nice people who just offered you a lift." The woman managed to smile; even though he went on, "We can hope pigs fly in Garston. Except those in helicopters, of course."

"It's _that_ serious?" McGee asked, mystified.

"Are we being followed?" Gibbs asked him.

"No, Boss, but they wouldn't have to if their cabbie got our make and number. City centre – hotching with CCTV."

"Ziva," Gibbs said, "Can you evade cameras? Without killing us?"

"Of course, Gibbs. Driving fast attracts the attention of cameras, we must use other techniques."

Their passenger, sandwiched between her and Tony in the back, said curiously, "How do you know that?"

"The same way that I knew about the cab; I was formerly with Mossad. I learned my evasive driving techniques in Tel Aviv and eastern Europe."

The woman nodded, with a wry, impressed look that was almost a smile, as Tim brought the small car to a halt under a carwash awning. They changed drivers, and left Ziva to do what Ziva did. Gibbs turned round in his seat, and said, with infinite and exaggerated patience, "Now, DiNozzo."

"Vance told us to watch, Boss."

"Your Director," the woman said softly.

"Yeah, him," Tony said, unfazed. "I saw this lady coming into the church…"

"Oriana," she said. "Oriana Del Giudice. Ria."

"_Cio e impresionante_," Tony said.

She shrugged. "I'm American. Like you, Special Agent DiNozzo. _Ma abbiamo_ _le stecci radici_, no?"

"_Romano_," Tony said.

"_Milanese_."

"Di_Nozzo_!"

"Sorry, Boss. I saw Oriana – Ria - coming into the church, and the usher tried to stop her. After that I kept watching –"

"What made you do that?"

"Call it my gut, Boss. Who tries to stop someone from coming into a public building? For a funeral? I could see she was seriously upset about something, and on the way out one of the Brass said something unpleasant to her. I couldn't hear what it was, but, well," he looked back at Ria, "you went stiff, and the old lady behind you looked horrified."

"'You stupid bitch, what are you doing here, can't you keep your nose out of things,'" Ria said sardonically.

"Right… you said, 'You're holding up the procession', if I read your lips right. I thought we ought to follow you; I just had a bad feeling." He looked back at Gibbs. "You know the rest, Boss."

"Yeah, DiNozzo," Gibbs said sarcastically; once again it didn't faze Tony at all. Gibbs had ordered the evasive manoeuvres, they wouldn't be doing this if he didn't think it was the right thing to do. "I know we're stuck in a car with someone we don't know, trying to avoid people we don't know, for reasons we don't know, based on your gut."

"You said your Director had told you to watch;" Oriana said. "He knew something was wrong. Do you know if he was a friend of Bill's? Commissioner Halliwell's?"

"Respected colleagues, from what he said," Tim told her, and she nodded thoughtfully. "Ma'am, how do you know about that?"

"Ria. I'm an ICE agent," she said. "And you should forget about me while you can, because in this city I'm on my own."

"Why did you come and place yourself in danger then?" Ziva asked as she casually parked on someone's front drive. "I assume the threat Tony perceived is as bad as he thinks?"

"Oh, yes. I came because it doesn't matter where I go, they'll get me as soon as they realise there's no alternative; because I'm a stubborn cow, and I'm out for revenge. Because they've got to be stopped whatever they do to me, and believe me, they _can't_ do more than they've already done - and because no-one was going to keep me away from my old friend Bill's funeral."

* * *

Leon Vance's phone shrilled, jerking him out of uncomfortable thoughts "Sir," his secretary said, "it's your nephew."

"Put him through." Drew LaSalle was actually the son of the Director's cousin, but nephew seemed as good a designation as any, especially as Leon liked the young man, and had high hopes of him. Perhaps not in a city like Garston, though.

"Hi, Uncle Lee."

"Drew. Social call?"

"No hope of that. Things are getting weird here."

"_Director, you have a visitor. He says he's your nephew."_

"_Does he, indeed? Send him in."_

_The tall young black guy who had entered the office flicked his eyes round admiringly. "Nice place, Uncle Lee."_

_He was twenty two years old ,lighter skinned than his 'Uncle', with a bright, eager, cheerful way about him, except that the cheerful bit was missing right now._

_Vance had checked that the door to the outer office was closed before hugging the young man. Wouldn't do to let the dignity of his post slip._

"_Andrew… what brings you here? Looking good, by the way… doesn't seem five minutes since Christmas…"_

_The young man had looked a little uncertain. "Yeah… wasn't expecting to see you again until the Spring…"  
_

"_Hey. Drew. What's up? Are the family OK? C'mon, sit down."_

"_I don't know what to do, Uncle Lee. I thought you might."_

_It had taken nearly half an hour to coax the full story from the anxious young man, and at the end, Leon Vance felt thoroughly uneasy himself. Drew was a police officer in the southern, coastal city of Garston; and according to him, things were very wrong there. Big business and the police were hand in illicit glove, and it went far deeper than the odd kickback or glance in the wrong direction. _

_Drew knew that police officers were actively involved with both Naval personnel and civilians in all kinds of smuggling; the force's jurisdiction covered a vast coastal area, with everything from huge dockyards and freight terminals to shallow, secluded inlets. He'd been offered in on a couple of deals bringing drugs off ships, and had played up the fear of being caught in order to refuse._

"_It's not that, though, Uncle Lee. And it's not just the thought that they're trying to soften me up for bigger things. I don't want to be corrupt. And me and a few others are scared to death that if we don't get on board, we'll be regarded as a threat. You know… if you're not with us then you must be against us. We've heard rumours of things like people trafficking… guns… We try not to all be seen together in case they think we're planning something._

"_Cole, my friend, said he heard two guys out in the lot for a smoke, talking about Tavors. He thought they said tasers, then realised he was wrong. He went on the net that night and found they're Israeli guns. And another thing… we were called to the scene when a sailor was found dead execution style in a packing crate that smelled of gun oil. We were about to call NCIS when a Brass turned up and told us to go, his men would deal with it."_

"_Mmm.. any particular Brass?"_

"_A guy called Studley. One of the Deputy Commissioner's cronies."_

"_Yes….What about the Commissioner?"_

_No, Drew had been sure, his uncle's old friend didn't know a thing. He always had a smile on his face, and congratulated everyone on how they were doing their jobs, and let his deputies make the decisions, without seeming to realise it._

"_I'll tell you how it looks to me, Uncle Lee. I'm no Doctor, but I think Big Bill's losing it. You know…Alzheimers, maybe? And his toadies know it. I really hate them, Lee. They're leading the poor guy by the nose, and they're so corrupt I bet you can smell the stink of the city five miles out at sea. I want to stay a cop, work my way up, do a good job, settle down; hey, I've even got a girlfriend on the force. Officer Meredith Banks; you'd love her. But for her sake and mine I'm thinking I ought to get out while I can."_

_Leon sat silently for a moment. "Leave it with me," he said finally. "I know who I can trust. Any time you think you've got a problem, call me, and I'll help. If you think you're in danger, yell. And any time you hear anything you think I might want to know, tell me. _But, _you and your friends, don't go digging. Protect yourselves first and foremost. We'll work on this. And thank you for having the sense to come to me."_

"_You think there's something to work on, then?"_

"_Oh, yeah."_

_Ten days later Bill Halliwell had died of a heart attack, alone on his boat at its marina berth; his doctor was astonished. "He was getting a little forgetful," he said tactfully, "but there was nothing wrong with his heart."_

Leon shook himself.

"First things first; are you OK?"

"I'm fine. I was at the funeral… I saw your guys. I was going to introduce myself at the reception like you said, but they didn't come. Merry says they spoke to this woman in black, and then went off with her."

"_What_?? I told them not to get involved… what is it with Gibbs? The man's a law unto himself –"

"Merry said it was the – I quote – 'handsome one' who got them all to follow her. Does that mean anything to you?"

Vance swore himself a blue fit, then a green one, but it still wasn't enough. "Oh, yes, that means something." He huffed explosively. "Are you on duty right now?"

"No. I'm on my way home to change out of my uniform."

"Keep your phone switched on, Drew."

"Will do… wait… Uncle Lee…" the young man's voice went up a note. "There's a BOLO going out for five people in a compact… possibly armed and dangerous…"

Cio e impresionante… that's impressive

Ma abbiamo le stesse radici… but we have the same roots


	3. Chapter 3

The Woman in Black

Chapter3

Ziva said, "Duck down in the back seat." They didn't argue, they ducked. Ziva began to yell at Gibbs, gesticulating wildly; he shook his head and held his hands up defensively, until the approaching patrol car had passed. "Stay down a little longer," Ziva told the three in the back, as she reversed the car off the drive again. She followed the police car for a couple of blocks and then turned off to the right.

"Well," she reflected, "It seems they do not know our plate. They checked us out, but I think we were dismissed." She reversed into a side alley and waited to see if the black-and-white came back, but it didn't. "It was not good police-work, to fail to note the number; it suggests a plan hastily put together."

"Somebody who was at the funeral, and had to wait until they left the Cathedral before they could use their cell phone," Gibbs agreed as Ziva began to drive again.

"Can we come up yet?" Tim asked plaintively, and the three back seat passengers rose like glove puppets. Tony shook himself, and brushed the black wool of Ria's collar from his face. He pinched his nose to prevent himself from sneezing.

"So," he said edgily, "what do you suppose the plan was?"

Ria sighed. "I don't know… this is the first time in a year that I've come to the city and they've known I was here. My guess is the cabby was coerced or bribed, and the other guy was a cop, so at that moment they only wanted me. Now I guess whether or not they know who _you_ are, or what I've told you scarcely matters. You'll be collateral damage. I _did_ warn you," she added despairingly.

"OK, I _do_ know," she went on. "I mean, would they arrest me on a trumped up charge? Not unless they're very stupid – my family's loaded, and our lawyers would eat them. Drag me to an alley and rough me up? They know that won't stop me."

"You have a third option, then," Tony said heavily.

Ria didn't answer directly. "I lost objectivity. I've been doing this for too long. I set myself up by coming… I thought I was safe at such a public occasion. I should have known better. And now I've involved you."

"Yes," Gibbs said. "I really would like you to explain _what_ you've involved us in_._"

He never got his explanation, as Ziva said suddenly, "_Del Giudice_! The fashion house! You are of that family!"

"Oh yes," Ria said, in that sardonic tone they were getting used to. "Italian haute couture at its very best. It's cool to wear the clothes and never have to pay a penny for them, and I'm not saying I wouldn't feel deprived if I couldn't any more… but - "

"Cool?" Tony said doubtfully. "You're wearing about five thousand dollars worth of clothes, and yeah, you sure look good, but you're wearing them like body armour, not cool. That's why I first noticed –"

Gibbs' phone buzzed before he could lose his own cool altogether. Vance. Very mad.

"Gibbs, does DiNozzo not understand the meaning of 'just observe'? Of 'don't get involved'? What are you doing let him drag you off after some woman? Do you know the trouble you're in?"

"Well, no, Leon, and I'm having a helluva job trying to get anyone to tell me. How is it that you're in DC and I'm sitting here in Garston and _you know more than me_?"

When Vance replied, "There's no time to explain right now," Gibbs face was an absolute study. Tony was already aware that they'd somehow got themselves into a real fix, even if they didn't know what it was, but even so he had to suppress a laugh. He thought the Boss might get an answer sooner if he stopped asking the question.

Vance went on, "Are you in your rental? Has it got satnav?"

"Yes, and yes."

The Director gave them a map reference, Gibbs passed it on to Ziva "Go there. Now. There'll be a young man waiting with a change of car." He paused for a moment while Gibbs passed the information on to the team. "Take the car, don't involve the kid, and get out of the city as inconspicuously as you can. Ditch the black clothes. There's a BOLO out on you, armed and possibly dangerous. And who the hell is the fifth person? This woman?"

"Says her name's Oriana Del Giudice," Gibbs said, making Tony wince at the execrable Italian pronunciation, and Vance spluttered.

"The hell! She's dangerous, Gibbs! People have died because of her! I take it _she_'s the reason for the BOLO – and I've brought my nephew into it on her account. Damn it, if anything happens to Drew I'll take it out of your hide, and especially DiNozzo's! Fix this, Gibbs! Call me when you've got out of the city." He hung up. He would come to swear later that it was only worry speaking; that he was going on the little information he had, and that he'd made no accusation, all of which was true; but Gibbs shifted in his seat, and a moment later Ria Del Giudice was looking down the barrel of his Sig.

"DiNozzo," he said in a voice that brooked no argument, "take her gun. McGee, cuff her."

The woman in black's face drained of all colour beneath the flawless olivine Italian complexion. The trapped, cornered animal look was back on her face, and she took a deep breath, clearly trying to stay calm.

"Behind her, McGee!" Tim looked almost apologetic as he obeyed; Tony looked outraged. For once he couldn't read what his Boss was thinking; but the sight of the white faced woman now hunched uncomfortably forward between him and McGee seemed fundamentally wrong, no matter what the Director had said.

Ziva glanced in her mirror; then concentrated on reaching their destination without attracting attention. She too felt this was not right, even though her natural inclination was to have no patience with any female who made Tony lose his objectivity. There was clearly more here than met the eye; maybe, even, Tony's gut was right – and certainly the Boss's reaction seemed like overkill.

Gibbs put his gun away. "My boss has heard of you;" he said flatly. "Says you're dangerous."

"I _told_ you that," The woman said, lowering her head and screwing her eyes shut in despair.

"He says people have died because of you."

Oriana Del Giudice's head jerked up again, her eyes flew open, and she glared at Gibbs, her chin high and confrontational. "Really?" The sarcasm was vicious, her voice a bit wild. "Well, yes, I'd have told you about that too given the chance… I'm pretty certain Bill was one, although I think that would have happened anyway… there was a sailor down on Salterside docks who tried to get information for me… Kenny Crowder, his name was, not over bright, but he was a hero in his own way. There was a smuggler… _I_ killed him in self-defence… my report disappeared, never know when it might come back to bite me. Oh yes," she was almost yelling by now, "and one was my husband, OK?"

She banged her head back against the headrest in frustration and pain. "If you want the whole story, take these goddamn things off me." She thought for a minute, and although her agitation scarcely lessened, Tony observed that at least the hunted look had gone. He was still going with his gut.

He moved to uncuff her, but Gibbs said, "Wait." This time Tony threw him a challenging look, but he waited.

Ria continued bitterly, "I guess if you were in on it, if Leon Vance was in on it, you'd know all this anyway. And I'd already be dead. But it's a long story…" She closed her eyes for a moment. "You've got three alternatives," she said, still bleak and bitter, but back in control; Tony noted the marble jaw-line again. "One: shoot me. Two: kick me out of the car, go and find your new vehicle and like I said, forget you ever saw me. Might be a bit late for that of course, but you'll evade the BOLO better without me. Three, listen to what I have to say. Then you can do what the hell you like. I trusted you - why the hell can't you trust me? Why did you help me in the first place?"

Tim was reaching for the cuffs even before Gibbs' curt nod. Ria settled back in her cramped centre seat with a muttered thanks. A couple of tears ran down her cheeks, and she said, "I'm getting a handkerchief, OK?" Tony was pretty certain the one she pulled slowly from her coat pocket was the same one given to her by the kind lady during the service; he'd been half right, it smelled not of lavender, but of 4711 cologne.

"Let us wait just one moment longer;" Ziva said, and before Gibbs could even begin to growl his frustration again, she added hastily, "we are here."

'Here' was a scrap yard, with piles of tangled metal high enough to block any security cameras; there didn't seem to be any anyway. At the back there was a lock-up, under a railway arch, and a young black man stood beside a new Saturn Outlook, unremarkable dark grey, but with tinted windows.

He smiled. "Special Agent Gibbs," he said cheerfully, offering his hand. "I'm Drew. This is my Dad's auto… it's got a tracker, disabling switch under the front passenger seat. It's off right now. But my Dad isn't going to report it stolen anyway. You'd best get going. You've made my Uncle Lee pretty mad."

Gibbs drew him to one side."Will you tell him thanks?" he asked. "Ask him to find background on Ms Del Giudice, but tell him we don't think she's a threat to us. Oh, and tell him it's not DiNozzo's fault."

Drew nodded. "Sure. But I have to wait until he calls me; he said to tell you the same… unless it's an emergency don't call him, he'll call you. Be careful." He jumped onto a dirt bike that he must have brought in the back of the huge vehicle, and wheelied away. They used the lock-up to get a change of clothes, while Ria, not having anything to change into, stowed their bags into the Outlook, and less than two minutes later they too were on their way, with Ziva still at the wheel.

There was, of course, much more room in the LaSalle vehicle, and they all stretched with relief. Gibbs, riding shotgun with Ziva, turned round in his seat. His voice was a little kinder, if you knew him, although Ria was really beyond caring. Tony sat beside her, having taken on the role of protector; Tim sat beind where he could look back frequently. The woman in black absently rubbed her wrists, as the senior Special Agent said, "Now…"

**AN: This chapter is a little shorter than the length I normally like to post; but I'd like to get Ria's story all into one chapter so the action can begin.**

**  
Thank you kind reviewers; thank you all the people who've added alerts. I suppose it's useful to keep a lert, but I don't know what they eat, or if they make good pets. I'd love to hear from you!**


	4. Chapter 4

The Woman in Black

Chapter 4

Ria Del Giudice nodded slowly. "Right… I suppose I'd best start where I first came into it. I was a fairly junior agent in the Field Intelligence Group in New Orleans. This is six years ago now. The Nawlins FIG covers a very big area, and we were pretty well occupied with things on our own territory, but of course, information from other FIGs comes in and has to be correlated… it's not such an interesting job, unless you find a nugget amongst the dirt, but as a junior analyst, I didn't complain when I had to do it it.

"I did complain when one particular area was really slack about getting back to me on just about everything, but I didn't think anything of it except that they were crap at their jobs. The Houston FIG would send information; I'd try to check it back with authorities in the area, and never get a straight answer. Sometimes no answer at all."

"Garston," Gibbs said, his glance going to where Ria had taken her gloves off, revealing a thin, elegant pale gold wedding ring. She was still massaging her wrist. He looked at Tony, to try to let him know to take a look; he should have known, the SFA was already studying the young woman's hands.

"Yes… beautiful Garston…" Ria said heavily. "The place had been annoying me for about a year, and I'd been starting to hear rumours, and noticing little news items and snippets of information, that I don't suppose I'd have given a thought to, being a long way from the place, if they hadn't irritated me so much. Things like property buy-ups, re-generation grants being withheld, areas graded as unusable… a whiff or two of corruption. Things my agency didn't particularly handle, but I began to notice."

As her hand went to her wrist again, Tony reached over and carefully lifted her arm. She looked at him curiously as he pushed her coat sleeve back, to reveal an angry abrasion where she'd fought against the cuffs. Gibbs wordlessly reached under the dash and passed a well-stocked first aid kit to his SFA, and Ria looked from Tony to his boss, who shrugged deprecatingly.

"The kid who brought us this car is Director Vance's nephew," he explained by way of an apology. "Vance said you were dangerous, and I thought we'd maybe put the kid in danger. I couldn't take any chances."

Ria took it for what it was, and simply nodded. It wasn't much of an apology for scaring her shitless that she'd rushed into a trap after all, but it was the best this good but inarticulate man could do, all she was going to get, and she hadn't asked for one anyway. They were all still laying their lives on the line for her. What the hell.

She let Tony clean and dress the injury without wincing or complaining, as she went on with her story. "I got sent to Houston, to liaise with an analyst there, on a completely different subject, and I was picked up at the airport by a young field agent. His name was Gray Broadwood, and he had me at hello. He didn't ask me the question that most people do when they find out I'm a Del Giudice – which you didn't either, for which I'm grateful, by the way –"

Gibbs was about to ask what that might be, when Tony said, in the most accurate take off of a lounge lizard Ria had ever heard, bearing in mind that she'd met enough of the real thing in her time, "'Now what's a beautiful girl like you doing being a fed, when you could be a supermodel ? No, _re-al-ly. _Babe, you could be wearing those _fabulous_ clothes and jetting all round the world… hmmm?'"

That actually brought a smile; brave, if a little twisted, and a slight laugh. "That kind of thing," she said wryly, as Tony checked out her other wrist.

Ziva said over her shoulder. "Oh, I _wanted _to ask, believe me… what woman wouldn't want to live cocooned in Del Giudice clothes?" She spoke lightly, to show that the question was _meant_ lightly. "But I felt that perhaps you had been asked too many times already. Perhaps by people who didn't really want to know why, but only to suggest you were a fool for not living the life."

Ria nodded. "That's very perceptive, Special – er, _Ziva. _There _is_ an answer, quite simple really, even if it sounds a bit goody goody. As fashion world people, my family are among the good guys, they have morals and principles; I didn't like a lot of the others."

"Because they had neither?" Tony asked.

"I thought not…nor hearts either." There was a glimpse of mischief. "Well, at least I still get to wear the clothes… So, I transferred to Houston, and married Gray." She looked at Tony. "We honeymooned in Norway… that's why that piece by Grieg got under my defences and set me off." Tony just nodded his understanding and didn't interrupt. "We were just kids really, but we were happy. You never know how things will turn out, but I _believe_ we'd have spent our lives together."

She swallowed, and squared her shoulders. "I got home in a bad mood one night; Gray asked me what was wrong… I told him bloody Garston, and asked his opinion. How much I've wished and wished that I'd kept my mouth shut that day."

Now any mischief was gone, and the pain that drove her was clear on her face again. "He was interested straight away… he said he'd worked cases there and the local police were either unhelpful or incompetent; he could never figure out which. He'd seen things that made him think business came before justice there."

Tony had finished dressing her wrists. "Thank you," she said quietly. "We began to compare notes, and after a few weeks, when we'd pieced together enough facts to interest our superiors, Gray said he should talk to his boss. I wish… you see, he was in the field, I wasn't. I didn't understand… I thought he wanted to go to his boss alone because he thought they'd think we were just a couple of naïve juniors… I _was _naïve…I didn't _see_ the danger, I didn't see that he was protecting me…"

She looked at her wedding band, then lifted her head again. "I _felt_ it though, that night when he didn't come home. It… it was three days before they found him, face down in a coastal creek. He hadn't been dead three days; beaten, the police said, more like tortured, his own team said, no proof of that, his boss said." She spoke in a rush afraid that if she stopped she wouldn't be able to start again.

"His team were broken up and sent to other postings; I took leave, during which I contacted my old supervisor in New Orleans and he got me transferred back. He didn't raise an eyebrow when I said I wanted to do the firearms training… but I've carried a gun since that day, although I stayed in Intelligence because that's where the information is. Since then, I've been doing my job, trying, with varying degrees of success to keep my head down, and every spare moment I've been amassing information. It would take an hour to tell you the size of the slug that's eating Garston… and I'll find that hour, believe me… it began long before I started taking an interest. It's been four years now, since Gray died."

She shook her head. "I think I trust my colleagues, but would you believe I don't ask them to help? Not even my boss. I'm not blaming Gray's boss, particularly; but someone there had my husband killed, and I still haven't found out who."

Once again, Tony looked at the woman in black's jawline, and was reminded of olivine marble. "Why d'you think he was tortured?"

"I know he was," she snapped.

"No," Tim spoke up gently from the rear of the car, "Tony means what were they after?"

"Oh. Sorry." Her voice was shaky. "I'd say they wanted to know what he knew, and who else knew…" Her face twisted, and she went on hollowly, "and if he'd broken, I'd be dead too." She paused again, and said, "I'm not going to talk about how I felt… still feel, except to mention that if there really are identifiable stages of grief, I've never let go of number two, even if I have arrived at some sort of acceptance. I'm still angry." She looked at each of them in turn. "But none of you is a stranger to grief… there's nothing I can tell you about it."

"No," Gibbs agreed, "but we also know about justice."

"And vengeance," Tony added.

They were all silent for a moment, and then Ziva turned down a side road and pulled over. She turned in her seat. "There is really very little we can say about the past to help you," she said sadly. "But we can offer help in the present. The satnav tells me we are on the outskirts of the city, and I have tried to come by roads which are less likely to have checkpoints. I have avoided obvious routes that they might assume we would take, but I am uncertain of what to do next, because a map is not a complete picture. It is difficult to second guess what they are thinking, but I wondered if a route that takes us close to the airport might be best because they _may_ not expect us to go that way." She looked round questioningly, inviting comment.

Ria took a cell phone from her purse. "It's unregistered, never used. Maybe we need some outside information." She handed the phone to Gibbs, and then said suddenly, "If you're prepared to drive north-west instead of north-east, I believe I know somewhere we could 'hole up' until your people could find us. If we can get past the checkpoints."

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully. "Give me a minute." He called Vance. "Leon! Thanks for the car. Your nephew was OK last time we saw him. Is he safe?"

"He's safe. His father says if you break his new car I've got to buy him another one. And I thought I said I'd call you."

"It's a burn phone."

"Are you out of the city yet?"

"No."

"Dammit, Gibbs - I said –"

"Director, I _know _what you said, but we need your help. We need to know about road blocks, especially in the airport area."

"Ah. Give me two minutes and ring again." They could hear the height the phone was dropped from as Vance hung up. Everyone except Gibbs winced.

As they waited, Tim broke the tense silence.

"You could tell us a bit about the slug," he said, "I know we haven't got an hour, but you could start."

"OK…" Ria thought for a moment. "There are so many dirty fingers in so many pies… but the really big thing… which is how they got to know about my poking about, I guess… is this land thing. There's derelict dockland that never got either upgraded or cleared. They wrote it off, saying that toxic ships had been dismantled there. A college professor named Edward Hinault offered to do a study with his students, to see if the land could be reclaimed, it was near enough to the university to be useful , they're hemmed in and desperate for somewhere to expand.

"The city fathers said no, so they did little bits of the study when they could, sneaking in at night. Starting with the most obvious places, they found no contamination. They said so publicly; the students were fined for trespass, and rumours began to fly about Hinault's ability to do his job. The newspapers for the most part supported him, but now academics are scared to open their mouths. Did you notice them at the funeral?"

"Oddly enough, I did," Tim said. "I christened them 'Professi Nervosi'. Says it all, doesn't it."

"The ones I've spoken to think journalists have their phones bugged and won't speak to them except face to face, when they dare… I got in touch with one after hearing about Professor Hinault's problem, and I talked to the Prof himself; now either, one of them is involved, which I doubt, I chose my journalist carefully, or someone listened, because the next thing was my boss was being hassled. Someone from the Garston police department wanted to know who this paranoid junior was who was stirring up trouble. My boss told me about it and didn't reprimand me, which is why I _think _I trust him, but…"

"Let me phone Vance again, before you tell us any more," Gibbs said. "We need to be moving again."

"Gibbs. Don't say anything. Switch your locator beacon on, give three seconds and switch it off again." Gibbs did so. He heard Vance ask 'Miss Sciuto' if she'd got it, and heard Abby's affirmative. "Now can I speak, Leon?"

"We know where you are now. You're three miles out from the airport; at one mile there's a checkpoint you need to avoid. They've not put another one further down the road, looks like they're assuming it's airport or nothing. We're trying to find a way round it."

"No need, Leon. We just wanted to know it was there." He rang off with the Director in mid squawk.

Ria looked interested. Tony looked excited. Tim looked keen, Ziva had that slightly deranged look she wore when she thought there might be a chase on.

"No, Ziva," the Boss told her. "We're going to do this sedately." He turned to Ria. "Now we know where it is, we can drive up to it confidently," he explained.

"Ria, may I borrow your scarf?" Ziva asked, and the other woman handed it over, her curiosity thoroughly whetted.

Ziva wound it round her head, gave it a twist, and Ria said, in a startled voice, "Russian!"

"Da! Ziva said, and spoke to Gibbs animatedly in that language.

"DiNozzo, take Ria in the back and lie down." Tony's eyes bulged as he fought down a very inappropriate response. Ria saw it and a tiny particle of smile curled the edge of her mouth up. "McGee, cover them up with the suitcases, and make sure there are no feet sticking out. Then come and sit behind me."

Tim did so, and Tony, lying behind and over the young woman, his arm round her protectively, the other hand holding his gun, said "Mind where you stick those things, McMuscles!"

"Oh I will, Tony, I will."

Ria eased her gun out too, and they both prayed they wouldn't have to use them, as they made themselves as small as possible. Ziva put the big vehicle into drive, they set off again, and although she went slowly, and the jolting was kept to a minimum, the two in the back grunted and hissed as the cases bounced on top of them. "This had better bloody work," Tony muttered, trying to keep his mind on the job and _not_ think of the fact that he was pressed up against a warm female. He felt guilty for even thinking it, when he'd seen her that morning weeping for her dead husband, and pushed the thought aside. "You're incorrigible, DiNozzo," he thought. The car was slowing, and came to a halt.

They heard Ziva say, "Good afternoon, officer," very brightly. Gibbs mumbled something very bad tempered in Russian. Ziva chided him gently in the same language.

A grumbled argument got under way, until McGee's voice said, "Sis, the officer's waiting."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, Sergeant." The guy wasn't a sergeant; a little flattery never came amiss. "Yes, we're going to the airport. Don't mind Pop, he's in a mood. I think his haemorrhoids are bothering him."

There was an explosion of angry Russian from the passenger seat; the officer snorted. "Have a nice day, Ma'am."

They took the airport turning, rejoined the main road two miles later, and travelled another mile onto a less used road before stopping to let the baggage get back to its seat. "I'll never throw a parcel in the trunk again," Tony groaned. "Nice work, guys. So, where to now?"

**AN: Action next, I think. Review, anyone? Please?**


	5. Chapter 5

The Woman in Black

Chapter 5

"Been thinkin' about that," Gibbs said. They all waited expectantly. "We could drop you off where you'd be safe… like, with your parents, say, and take ourselves back to DC." He smiled as three pairs of eyes regarded him with hot disbelief. Ria looked round them all, and a quizzical smile began to grow. Tony was happy to see it; pain without any sort of relief was unbearable.

"Boss," he said indignantly, but for effect only, since they each knew what the other was thinking, "I thought we were going slug hunting."

"But we cannot do it on an empty stomach, Tony," Ziva said sternly.

"I forgot that, Ziva," Tony said, and turned to Ria. "She gets a bit… you know… weird… Miss Grizzly Bear, when her blood sugar drops… doesn't she, McGee?"

"Oh, yes," Tim said earnestly. "She is Woman, hear her growl…"

"_Or_," the Boss went on oppressively, "we can take a breather and decide what to do next. We need food; we need to get it without anyone noticing us, and away from cameras. And I need coffee."

Ria said, "Can you last out about twenty miles?"

"Twenty miles?" Tony said pathetically. "That's to the moon and back. My stomach-"

Ziva kicked down hard and the car dropped a gear and shot forwards. "I am Woman, hear me _make the decision!_ Where are we going, Ria?" The Woman in Black threw her head back and laughed. Tony grinned. Tim and Gibbs caught it and echoed it back to him. Mission accomplished.

Ria said, "If there's a road map on board, I'll show you." Gibbs found one for her, and after a few minutes study, she pointed to a spot. "Just before you arrive at this little town, Gaines, you come to a left turn by a big sycamore. There's a dirt track up to a farm. It belongs to my Uncle Renato."

"Does he live there?" Gibbs asked. "We can't involve him in this."

Ria shook her head. "No-one lives there. Renato's the chief of the company's photography department. He discovered it a good few years ago, when he was looking for a place to do a shoot for outdoor clothes. He stopped in Gaines for a snack, and asked the waitress about local places. She told him about the Read farm; said it had woods, a valley etc very pretty, then she asked if the owner would be paid."

"Odd question for a waitress," Tony said curiously. "Was she the farmer's wife or something?" Ria paused, her thoughts flying off at a tangent. They were sharp as nails, this team; the slow escape, the Russian ruse, and just now, the conspiracy led by the big guy to lift her spirits… Now the Italian was a step ahead of the story.

_The Russian ruse_… _uncomfortable under a pile of suitcases, she'd still felt safe with DiNozzo wrapped around her._

She blinked, and concentrated. "That's what Uncle Renato thought. She explained that she was just a friend looking out for a friend. Jobey Read had fallen on hard times, and needed the money. But he didn't hear it from her."

The young woman looked lost in a memory for a moment. "It was an ideal spot. They hauled me in; I took some leave – it was just before I met Gray; I forgot bloody Garston, and we camped up at the farm. Myself, my sister Jocasta, the-"

"I knew I'd seen you before," Tim burst out. "Jocasta Linden! You're so like her. You were together on that shoot –"

Gibbs growled, "Who –" but he never got as far as 'the hell' as Tim went on excitedly.

"She's the _face_ of Del Giudice, Boss." He turned back to Ria. "I saw that spread… I've forgotten which magazine… you were the other model! I should have realised… Shutting up now, Boss."

"My kid sister," Ria said, more at ease than she'd felt in heaven only knew how long. "She doesn't use the family name for modelling – wanted to make it on her own. She did, then came back to work for the firm anyway. Two male models, truck loads of expensive clothes, make up artist, hairdresser, a truck load of expensive clothes and a whole photography team. Oh, and a caterer."

"Food…" Tony moaned pathetically.

"Mr Read had two rough old carthorses, that were such characters we used them in a lot of the shots… Well, we had a fabulous five days, considering it was work. When it came time to leave, Mr. Read was really upset, and that's in spite of the nice cheque. He said he'd be sorry to see us go."

She glanced round at them all. "This is relevant, by the way… we coaxed it out of him; he was broke because the local farmers' co-operative bought all the produce. If you weren't a member, you couldn't sell your stuff. He wasn't a member because he couldn't afford the 'fees'."

She made quote signs, and Gibbs sighed. "The slug leaves a very wide trail, then."

"Hey, that's a really good observation, Boss. Now, about this food…" Gibbs glared. Tony subsided. "Shutting up too, Boss."

Ria was smiling. She'd give it more thought when she could, but whatever danger they were in, it seemed clear that she'd somehow managed to fall in with a unique and rather special group of people.

"Uncle Renato bought the farm on the spot," she went on. "If you knew him, you'd see… it's just the sort of thing he does. People from the company go up there to blow off steam, or to chill, he just lets them. He said he might make it into a horse ranch one day, but I don't know. Marsha, the waitress, keeps an eye on it; there's no-one up there now. But…" she looked at Tony, "there's plenty of canned food kept there for emergency. And coffee," she added, looking at Gibbs.

"And only seventeen miles now," Ziva said brightly, gunning the big car.

Ria suddenly felt absolutely drained. She put her head back against the rest, but it still wasn't comfortable. Tony grinned, and pushed his arm up against hers, so that his shoulder was invitingly near. "_Venire su,_" he said softly, so she did. Moments later she slept.

* * *

Drew was restless, and on edge. He climbed off his dirt bike, parked it up and headed into the police headquarters. There would be just enough time to say 'hi' to Merry, and fix up to meet her later, before he went on duty. As he walked into the building, his good pal Cole fell into step beside him, with a cheerful 'yo'. As they walked, he removed his uniform from his back pack; he usually left it in his locker, but he'd changed at home after the funeral. As they made their way down to the locker room, he felt strangely reluctant to put it back on.

"What's up, man?" Cole asked, feeling the heavy vibes pouring out of his best friend.

"Oh, dude," Drew said. "I can't even begin to tell you."

"O-kay…" Cole said, calm but a bit puzzled. "You mean you don't know where to begin to tell me, or you can't tell me at all?"

"I don't know… man, I - "

"Hey, maybe we should meet up after we finish, have a beer? You can tell me then what's bothering you. If you want to that is…"

"Well… truth is, I'd love to talk to _someone_, and I can't tell Meredith… not sure I can tell anyone though… it's-" he broke off as he heard his girlfriend's voice coming from somewhere down at the other end of the locker room. He was about to call out, when he heard her say, "Yes, I understand that, Lieutenant Studley."

Drew and Cole froze, and looked at each other in horror. Studley! Yes-man extraordinaire of Deputy Commissioner Wilson, both of them armpit deep in everything that was worst about the force. What did he want with Merry? Drew went pale enough for Cole to see it under his friend's warm coffee coloured skin. He put his hand out to stop Drew from leaping forwards.

"Now you're absolutely sure Officer Lasalle was there when they changed cars?"

"I didn't see him, but he told me he was."

"So what sort of car are they driving now, Officer Banks?"

"I don't know, but he said he borrowed it from his father. Without his father's permission. Did you find the other car at the scrap yard?"

"Yes, we did. Forensics have it now. Did Officer LaSalle say who the people were?"

"No, Lieutenant, only that his Uncle had asked him to do it. Do you want me to ask him who his Uncle is?"

The senior officer's words were chilling. "No, thank you, Officer Banks. I'll deal with it myself. Good work."

"Thank you, Sir."

His footsteps began to come their way. Cole grabbed his friend's arm, or Drew would have done nothing, and dragged him out into the stair well around the corner. Moments later the heavy-set Lieutenant's shadow passed their hiding place.

Cole could see that the next few minutes action were going to be down to him. He shoved his friend under the foot of the stairs. "Stay there," he hissed. "Drew, ya hear me? Stay there." He went back to their lockers, looking around for Meredith, but she'd gone. He retrieved their guns, and every round of ammo he could find, and walked calmly back out. "Gimme the keys."

"Keys…"

"Drew, come _on._ It'll be easier to avoid patrols on your bike than in my car, when they start looking for us, which they _will,_ when we don't turn up for work." The fair haired young man was half a head shorter, and his blue eyes stared earnestly up into his friend's.

Drew finally got a grip on himself. "You should go, Cole," he said in a devastated voice. "Nobody knows you heard…"

His friend gave an impatient snort. "You want to end up like that sailor?" He began to drag Drew back to the lean-to where bikes and motorcycles were parked. "Phone your Dad," he said. "If they can't get answers out of you, they'll ask him. Warn him. And give me the damn keys. You can be shocked about _Officer Banks_ later. And you can tell me what's going on later too."

His Dad went frantic, but agreed to take Mom somewhere safe at once. "Don't worry, Dad, I'll come when I can. I'm going to call Uncle Leon." He disconnected before his father could say anything to change his mind. Cole said, "Switch off. We'll buy a phone somewhere. Before they start putting BOLOs out on us." They rode away without switching the dirt bike's lights on in the gathering dusk, and Cole began to manoeuvre it through the shadows. They bought a throwaway phone, and drove into a dim alley to use it.

"Uncle Lee…"

Vance didn't lose his cool. There was only one place he could think of to tell his nephew to go, after listening to what had happened. Only one set of people he knew could keep the kid safe. Which was how, minutes later, two fugitive young cops on a dirt bike were heading across country to the town of Gaines.

* * *

Gibbs had privately worried that they'd find the place vandalised, but Renato Del Giudice had thought of that as well, and installed good security. Ria woke up as they arrived and put the Outlook into the barn She found the key safe, tapped in the combination, and let them into the small farmhouse.

There was enough food to feed them all, a stove with bottled gas to cook it on, and fuel for the fire if they wanted to light it. There was also a generator, but they opted for oil lamps as they could be shaded, and because they didn't need the noise if they were to hear anyone approaching.

They'd checked in several times with Vance, to exchange updates; the Director wanted them to lie low until he could arrange sufficient manpower to extract them from what they had to consider hostile territory. For that reason he'd also decided to involve the FBI, not what he wanted, but he knew they'd be impartial witnesses unless attacked themselves, and when he thought of what Gibbs called 'The Slug', he knew that witnesses would be needed.

"Let me speak to the Director, please," Ria asked.

"It's your phone, Ma'am," Gibbs said ironically, but with a smile.

"Director? Oriana Del Giudice… Yes, I'm sorry about your nephew, but you must realise that sooner or later every honest person round here will be in danger, especially a cop. From what Gibbs tells me they've already tried once and failed to turn the young man, so he was a target long before I came on the scene. Using his girlfriend sucks though… No, we're listening out for them…"

She finally said, sharply, "Director, I appreciate that you're anxious, but you need to listen to me." Her tone made everyone in the room sit up and take notice. "Do you have someone you can trust in the Nawlins area? Good. Send them to my apartment, as soon as you can." She gave him the address, as everyone listened.

"The landlady will let them in if you give the password, which is The Slug. Mmm? Never mind. My laptop is in the safe in the kitchen floor inside a cupboard with the food processor sitting on top of it. The combination is 79D24G. Have them open the file in Word labelled Gray, it'll come up as photographs. If they put it as an attachment to an email to yourself, with the wording "Catch the Slug" it will send you every scrap of information I have. What you do with it is up to you and Miss Sciuto…no, thank _you._ It's my fight I'm asking you to take on."

She handed the phone to Gibbs, who said, "Something like this is everyone's fight, Ria," before speaking to the director again.

Tony stood up suddenly, and drew his Sig. Everyone reached for a lamp and turned it down, and Tim grabbed a torch. Gibbs drew his gun, but remained on the line to Vance and left them to it, as they listened to the sound of a motorcycle engine outside. When the sound stopped, a voice called Gibbs' name tentatively.

Tony threw the door open, Tim shone the torch, and the two young cops raised their hands. Tim snapped the torch off, Tony ran outside and shoved the two young men into the house. "Glad you made it. Were you followed?"

"No, we kept stopping and switching off and listening. And we circled the house before we came in. With the engine off. And no lights. Hard work, I tell ya. There's nobody out there."It was the blond young man, the shorter of the two, who answered.

"Nice work," Tony said approvingly, and the young man almost preened himself. "Let's get that bike under cover, and we can catch up, er…"

"Cole, sir. Cole Archer."

"Tony DiNozzo. Less of the sir." He looked at Leon Vance's nephew, and saw that he was silent and wrecked. "Drew. Go and sit. The others will introduce themselves. C'mon, Cole, let's shift that bike."

By the time they'd got back from stowing the bike in the barn, Tony had the story from the young cops' points of view, and had decided that Drew's friend could be trusted. "He'll be OK," Cole said, "He won't let you down when it comes to the crunch…"

"But he's just had his heart broken. I get it. Are you hungry? I mean, maybe food will help." Cole just grinned.

As they went inside, Drew was saying, " - And I shouldn't have involved Cole. But I don't think I'd have got here without him."

"We're all involved, buddy," Cole said. "We're just takin' a stand earlier than we might have thought. Stand's gotta be taken though." He noticed that Drew was sitting between two _very_ beautiful women, both of whom were listening sympathetically, both of whom carried guns… man, that was hot… how was he going to get in on that scene?


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Sorry… I like to try to make my chapters about the same length (don't know why) so the action never happened, except for the young cops' escape. Should get some in here.**

The Woman in Black

Chapter 6

Deputy Commissioner Harvey Wilson was in an evil mood – had been ever since he'd seen that damn' Del Giudice woman this morning. He'd looked around the Cathedral and seen what he wanted to see; his business friends forming a solid and formidable group, worried and powerless academics huddling together for protection like prey animals. Did they really think a new astrophysics building or concern for some wetlands or other would get in the way of the scheme that had been seven years in the hatching? When the new Coastal Regeneration Plan was unveiled, which was imminent, those who controlled the land stood to make _billions_, and nothing was going to get in their way.

Big Bill was gone; he'd been a pest in his more alert moments, asking awkward questions; and anyway, Harvey Wilson wanted his job, and had had enough of waiting. He was irritated beyond measure that the mayor wanted a tidy sum for endorsing him; but he'd find a way to get it… or the guy'd have a heart attack like Bill. The journalists had given up trying… there were those altruistic young fools from the junior ranks of the force, of course, but he had his eyes amongst them. Transfer… dismiss… worst possible scenario, tragic death in the line of duty, for any who couldn't ultimately be persuaded to come on board.

The funeral had been perfect… as befitted a great man; not a word out of place, and he was mad as hell that the only sour note of the whole proceedings had been his _own_ words, at the sight of that woman. On reflection, it had been a mistake to have her battered, unconscious husband thrown in a creek in those disputed wetlands and left to drown… he'd only succeeded in letting loose a Rottweiler, whose teeth were inches from his ass. He knew she'd been in and out of Garston many times, but they'd never managed to catch her, or there'd be two ICE agents in the wetlands.

And there she was, in broad daylight, dressed to kill, not be killed, _and_ taking up with these strangers who his so called intelligence guys hadn't even figured out yet, _and _getting past his checkpoints… There were footsteps behind him as he stood at his office window, looking out over _his_ city as night fell, and he whirled, ready to bite.

It was Studley, grinning like a shark, and he reined himself in. "Give me some good news, Bob, or don't bother to stay."

"Young Meredith earned her bonus," Studley said. "They're driving Lascelles' father's Outlook, and heading north somewhere. It's fitted with a tracker, incidently, but the company says it's switched off. They're monitoring."

"How's that good news?"

"Forget about the tracker for now, I've got five technicians who'd prefer to go home, checking for any sighting of a dark grey Outlook going north. We've had two hits going north west, and we're searching for anything in Lascelles' or Del Giudice's backgrounds for anything out there."

"Better, what else?"

"Well, how come nobody knew that young Andrew's father is cousin to the Director of NCIS? In DC, no less?"

Wilson let out a stream of profanities. "What's there to smile about, you damn fool? You want to explain to me how we're going to cover this if the _feds_ are involved?"

"They have to disappear off the face of the Earth, so nobody ever knows what became of them. And Del-Fricking-Giudice with them. Before their pals get here. We can be sure they've contacted them. I'm putting together a team I can trust. We'll be on the move as soon as we find them."

A technician tapped nervously at the door. "Sir… we've found a record of the sale of a farm to a Renato De Giudice, six years ago. It's about twenty miles north-west of here."

"Let me see… says here it's deserted… not much likelihood… keep looking." Studley dismissed the technician with a complete lack of concern. He looked at Wilson. "Don't want him thinking we're interested. Without trace, remember. We've got them."

* * *

The last time they'd called Vance, they'd got his secretary. "They'll be there by early morning", she told Gibbs. "The Director said you just need to keep your heads down until then."

"And where _is_ the director?"

"Well… he's not here, Special Agent Gibbs. But reinforcements are on their way."

Gibbs looked at them all. "Did you catch that?"

"It sounds as if the Director's coming to join the fun," Tony said approvingly.

"Uncle Lee's coming?" Drew said, startled, and Tony and Ziva looked at each other, wide eyed. '_Uncle Lee_?' Ziva mouthed.

"We should get some sleep," Tim said quietly. "We may have to deal with them before reinforcements get here." Tony looked at him with mild surprise, but then wondered why… This _was_ the man who'd gone to Somalia with him after all… the SFA nodded, with respect in the gesture. This _wasn't_ the terrified probie who couldn't get a coherent sentence out when Gibbs spoke to him; those days were long gone.

"You're right, McGee. I'll take first watch if you like," he said. "Zi, you did the driving, you're probably tired?"

Ziva nodded. "You are right, Tony. Wake me in, say, two hours?

"Three," Tony said.

"I've slept," Ria said. "I'll stay awake with you." Tony didn't look too displeased with the idea, but nobody remarked on it, not even Ziva. She and Tim took one bedroom, the cops the other, and Gibbs rolled in a blanket on the dining room floor. All the blinds were drawn, all the locks secured, and five people turned in to get what sleep they could.

The two watchers sat in the living room, Tony stretched out on the sofa, Ria on the rug in front of the fire. She'd taken off the black Russian coat, and Tony noted with approval the close fitting black needlecord pants tucked into those chunky knee high Italian boots. Her shirt was a white silk tunic, with tiny vertical pin tucks, sleeves that belled slightly, and seed pearls that seemed to have been sprinkled liberally over the shoulders, like hundreds and thousands on a birthday cake.

She sat with one leg drawn up, her arms wrapped round her knee, her profile marble again in the low light of the oil lamps. She felt Tony's eyes on her, and smiled ruefully. "Not the outfit for a fire-fight, is it?"

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Tony said softly. He looked round. "The doors are solid; the only way they can get in is through the windows… I can think of a few wild west movies with the same scenario…"

"Best look out for the Cavalry, then."

Tony took a quiet patrol round the house; he wondered how many of the opposition would show up. The news Drew brought hadn't been encouraging; Tony didn't think the enemy would have too much difficulty in finding them from the snippets of information the duplicitous girlfriend had supplied. He simply had to hope that there weren't enough out and out bent cops in Garston that they could raise an army.

He shuddered; ammo was going to be another problem, and he found himself looking at the gas bottle that supplied the cooker, wondering if it could be made into a bomb; one that wouldn't kill its makers as well as its targets. More than anything, he hoped the bad guys wouldn't bring infra-red scanners… don't think about it.

He returned to the living room, where Ria was counting her shells. She'd thought of that problem too. She was singing, in a soft, sweet contralto: Varen, Tony thought with a chill. She looked up, with a small, rueful smile.

"How long were you married?" Tony asked.

"Five months. I knew him just under a year altogether."

Tony sat back down on the sofa, but hunched forward to talk. "That must hurt like hell."

"You've all known it in your time." She paused. "Tony, don't think I live on the edge of misery all the time. I don't wake up every morning weeping at an empty bed. I _have_ reached acceptance, it's just that today it was very strong. The funeral, the music; I suppose you occasionally have days like that for the rest of your life… but mostly, I'm fine. Except for the anger. Once I get justice, for Gray… and so many others whose lives have been ended, or poisoned, or blighted, then I'll move on. Sometimes I think he tells me to."

"You're very positive that you will," Tony said. "That's good."

"Oh, yeah. Tony, I was brought up a good Catholic. I lapsed, like so many. But I do feel that a good fate moves in the universe as well as the bad one we're up against. And now's its time. My stuff's with someone who'll take it seriously and use it well, no matter what happens tomorrow…"

She looked anxiously up into his face. "I know good when I see it. You're good. All of you, and that good fate sent you to me. Which is why I'm doing my best to feel positive about tomorrow… because I can't see why a good fate would send me a lot of good people to grab their boss's attention, only to get them killed." She let the rest of her breath out with a shaky sigh.

Tony slid down to the floor beside her. He held his arm out. "_Venire su,_" he said softly. She wriggled unhesitatingly under his wing, and they sat in silence for a , he said gently, "That's nice."

"What, particularly?"

"You didn't just assume that I was a guy who thinks he's going to die in the morning, and wants to make out one last time."

"No, I didn't think that. Is that what all the girls think of you?"

"It's been known."

"I told you, you're a good man." She giggled, and moved her head against his shoulder. "Another place, another time…"

"You'd make out with me?" he asked, amazed.

"Yes." Her tone of voice was at once matter-of-fact and puzzled that he was even asking.

"Have you… er I mean… since Gray…"

"No. Scarcely given it a thought."

"But you would with me…"

"Why's that such a surprise?"

"I'm just…ordinary…"

She put her finger on his lips. "Don't think so. You like me, right?"

"Yes… I like you a lot…"

"So… maybe one day."

"Agreed. When this is all over, I'll… er… take you to…"

"_Roma e Milano. Che e buono?"_

"_Perfetto."_

They made another patrol of the house, then put two lamps on the hearth, to pretend there was a fire, and sat talking in low voices about anything that crossed their minds.

Tony had a reasonably good idea of the passage of time, and it was only two hours before he said, "Come on in, Boss. Didn't think you'd be able to sleep for long."

Ria hadn't heard Gibbs' approach at all, but the former marine's half hidden smile of pride that his SFA _had_, wasn't lost on her.

"Ya want to go wake up Ziva and McGee?"

"Nah, Boss, let them sleep. I suppose they _are asleep?_"

Ria wondered what Tony was implying, until Gibbs laughed. "Well, Ziva is. Couldn't speak for McGee."

Tony laughed, and Ria looked from one to the other, puzzled.

"Ziva snores," he explained. Ria nodded, and settled down against his side. "We'll just doze here, Boss. Wake us when you need us. Before sunrise? Council of war?"

Gibbs nodded and began his own patrolling.

Ria said softly, "Even if we do die tomorrow, thank you for breaking the cycle of four years of pain. Many people out there have hope now, even though they don't know it yet."

"Oriana," Tony whispered. "Remember what your name means, _bella oriana…_beautiful sunrise. We won't die."

* * *

They were woken by the voices of the others as they assembled, and the smells of hot tea and coffee. Tony, who'd not seriously slept anyway, opened his eyes to see young Cole looking down at him, with wry, barely concealed envy. He raised an eyebrow at him.

"Man," Cole said without rancour. "All I got to sleep with was Drew. Ya want some coffee?"

"Tea would be good." The young cop moved off, and Tony nudged Ria's shoulder. "Hey. _Svegli,Tesora._" Ria sat up instantly, a little disorientated. "It's OK," Tony soothed, "_it' alba di s non ancora._" He rubbed her shoulder gently.

McGee, about to say something sarcastic to Ziva, suddenly thought better of it, and stayed quiet.

They sat on the floor, round the hearth, hoping to confuse any thermal imaging, and discussed the most immediate problem. The boys had the most ammunition, thanks to Cole's forethought, the others all had full magazines and an extra clip each, and that, they all agreed, wasn't much. The real crux was, that they had only hand guns, and it was certain that whoever came up against them would have more than that.

What _could _crooked cops get their hands on in a hurry?

Gibbs thought that explosives and rocket launchers were unlikely; they weren't going to get away with seven murders if the whole neighbourhood heard about it, but there'd be automatic and semi automatic weapons. Perhaps stun grenades. They'd have to find ways of blocking the windows. "How do we get them to use up as much of their ammo without getting hit or using our own?" Tim asked, looking at Gibbs for an answer. He thought, then smiled.

Tony mentioned the gas bottle, and Ziva's eyes lit up. She went and dressed in her funeral black clothes again, then disappeared to make her plans.

Drew and Cole opened the back door a tiny crack, and listened for a while; there was no sound, so they simply had to take a chance that the opposition wasn't already out there with night scopes. Tony stood behind them, and hissed, "Go." He stood tall to give them covering fire, while they dashed across to the barn. They piled every metal thing they could find on top of the Outlook, and Drew gave his dirt bike a sad pat, as he didn't think it would survive the morning.

They tied the end of a roll of bailing twine to the bottom of the pile, and ducked out of the door again, paying it out, and trying to kick dirt over it as they ran. Still no sound, so either the enemy was being cagy, or they didn't have night scopes, "or… they're not here yet," Tony said, hauling them inside.

Ria, kneeling in front of the fire, stuffing anything she could find up the chimney to prevent stun grenades being dropped - "It wouldn't just blow the chimney apart, would it, Gibbs?" – felt something hard and uncomfortable under her knee. She pulled the rug back; there was a ring let into the floor. She heaved at the small trapdoor she found, and whooped. "Gibbs, look!" In the small cavity, two hunting rifles were chained, with a box of ammunition.

"Nice work, Ria." He picked the lock, lifted the Mannlichers out and admired them. "They won't be expecting us to have these."

"The Boss was a sniper," Tony told Ria. "I guess Ziva should have the other one."

"I have other fish to cook, Tony. I will take my handgun. Have you never fired a rifle?"

"Nothing like you have, Zi. But yes…"

"Then you should have it. I am going outside. Please try not to shoot me."

"Zi - !" But she was gone.

"Molotov cocktails, DiNozzo. Not the first time she's used them. Leave her to it."

They pulled all the beds into the living room, made a fort in the centre, and jammed the doors to all the rooms, leaving only the passage down to the back door, which was the quickest way to the barn. They wedged two mattresses against the windows, leaving only tiny vertical crack, and pulled the blinds down to a foot from the sill, giving them four small viewing port. They kept the oil lamps close, so that if one was damaged they could prevent a fire, and jammed a bed up on end against the front door.

Welcome to Fort Renato.

They considered piling into the Outlook and tearing off cross country, but there were such things as helicopters, and their enemies would be able to find them before their friends did. The said enemies didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry… it was a good half hour after dawn before they arrived. Three SWAT trucks, so maybe twenty, twenty-four men.

Gibbs' phone buzzed. "Gibbs? I have scouted the high ground, there are no snipers, and at the moment no other personnel carriers of any kind that I can see. As soon as they are deployed, I will neutralise their transport."

"To what purpose, Ziva?"

"Just to mess with their heads, Gibbs."

**AN: Can't seem to stop…. May even get another chapter off tonight…not promising… review, ple-e-ease?**


	7. Chapter 7

The Woman in Black

Chapter 7

"Ziva…"

"Seriously, Gibbs. To disorientate them, and give them some explaining to do. Must go."

"NCIS! You hear me in there?"

Gibbs didn't answer. "Don't think much of their Intelligence, if they don't even know our names," he muttered. At the back door, Cole lay on the floor, aiming through the slightly open crack with his police special, Tony stood above him, aiming the Mannlicher.

"NCIS! We just wanna talk!"

McGee raised his eyebrows and huffed. "At least Tony uses lines from _good_ movies," he said.

"Who'm I talking to?" Gibbs called back, not raising his voice. Make them work.

"This is Lieutenant Studley, Garston PD."

"Well, _Lootenant_ Studley, if you know who we are, what're you doing disturbing our vacation?"

"Oh, smart guy, huh?" Tim sighed. Lord knows what Tony was thinking if he could hear this down at his end of the corridor. "You know what we want. You're harbouring a dangerous fugitive, and two renegade police officers."

"And if we hand them over, you just let us go?" The pause was so long that Gibbs couldn't resist. "You're not a trained negotiator, are you," he called kindly. He waited, but before he got any sort of reply, truck number one blew. Ziva had lobbed one petrol bomb under the engine, and the other through the back doors. Under cover of the explosions, she followed up on the other two trucks, and disappeared along the escape route she'd already scouted. She'd have been pleased to see that three guys who ran back to investigate the first explosion, were taken out by the second and third.

The inept negotiator decided not to negotiate any more. He was beginning to feel in over his head, despite his bravado to his boss last night. In order to get his hands on his share of the money, there was really nothing he wasn't prepared to do, but he was beginning to wonder, for the first time in years of getting away with murder, if there was a limit, and how they'd keep the lid on this.

Extreme violence seemed to be the only remedy. The watchers inside the house had to retreat inside Fort Renato to observe how much of the hail of bullets actually got through. The walls seemed solid enough; the windows shattered, but the shooters on the outside couldn't see what to aim at inside; the mattresses stopped many of the bullets, but would soon be shredded. Everyone would have to watch their own window .

Gibbs crawled towards the passage. "Cole," he called softly, "Now might be a good time."

The blond cop seized the baling twine that lay beside him, and gave it a great heave. Inside the barn there was an almighty crash, and figures began running towards it, letting loose a storm of bullets. Tony grimaced; he'd killed face to face, and could remember every one of them, but this was the first time he'd ever shot unsuspecting targets from cover. Then he thought of who he was shooting at and why, and began methodically picking off running figures.

As soon as he began firing, so did Cole, coming out of his own trance, and another hand gun spoke from a point of cover somewhere behind two tall feed silos. "Zi," Tony said to himself. "Nice work." Seven men were down, and the poor, beleaguered Saturn Outlook in the barn chose that moment to explode, took out a wall and another two shooters. Drew came running down the passage.

"My Uncle just called;" he said. "They're ten minutes away… with an FBI helicopter, he said to tell you Fornell, Tony."

"He's a good guy for a Feebie," Tony said, as he put a bullet in the backside of a figure crawling towards Ziva's last known position. "Everybody OK back there?"

"Yeah. Nobody's hit."

Cole said suddenly, "What the fuck…" from his position on the floor. Ziva was crawling round the feed silo; she had blood on her face, and looked as if she'd been hit by flying debris. She caught Tony's eye, and shook her head. She was OK, and no-one had seen her. If he knew her, no-one would. If she was done with her rampage, he'd give her covering fire when she needed it to get back to the house.

Tony listened, only for the briefest moment, but it was too long, to what was going on in the living room; he could hear two hand guns and one rifle, things were OK. Except they weren't. Cole was taking things into his own hands. He may have been a junior male chauvinist, and still some way from taking his finals, from what a past master in the art could see, but he was a gallant one. Not being experienced enough to realise that Ziva was crawling because she _wanted_ to, and seeing the blood on her face, the young man shot to his feet, yelling "Come on, Drew," and dived out of the door to run to her aid.

Tony tried to at least grab his Director's nephew to stop him from making the same crazy mistake, but with a rifle in one hand it was difficult. He yelled frantically, "Gibbs!" as he turned to give covering fire. The few remaining attackers at this end of the building started up again, and revealed their positions, which was foolish as both agents now had targets. Tony was firing as fast as the Mannlicher's mechanism would allow him, and so was Ziva, but trouble was happening, in slow motion…

Cole was struck, Tony had no idea where, and he tumbled over a low wall to what had probably been a pig pen. Drew stopped, disbelieving. "Cole!" he screamed, and just stood there.

'Oh, no, no,' Tony thought… "Drew, _run,_" he yelled, as Gibbs dashed up behind him, but the young man, who'd been a cop for just eighteen months, never seen a fire-fight, let alone been in one…he stood frozen for one moment too long, then started towards where he'd seen his friend fall. A bullet struck him in the back of his thigh, and he went down.

Vance's nephew, Tony thought frantically… sent to them for safe-keeping… He thrust his rifle at Gibbs and ran out, doubled up. He reached Drew's side without mishap, the youngster was moaning his friend's name. "Time for that later," Tony yelled as meanly as he could muster. "Come on. On your feet!" He pulled, shoved and dragged the cop across the open ground, hearing the bark of Gibbs rifle, and seeing a small black shape that he realised was Ziva, dragging another body…

He waited for her to get her burden through the door, and that was his undoing; Gibbs couldn't see past her to take care of the figure who rose and fired. Tony shoved Drew in through the door and Gibbs slammed it.

"Shit, Boss, I should have stopped them… shouldn't have let them go…" Tony gasped in an agony of guilt. Gibbs just looked at the blood on his chest and caught him as he fell.

At the other end of the passage Ria looked on in horror, but then she wasted no time. She and Tim grabbed discarded throws from the chairs and anything else of use, and hurled them down the corridor; then dragged the nearest bedstead through, slammed the passage door and jammed the bed against it. They were down to their last line of defence, in a narrow corridor, with four wounded and only three able bodied.

Gibbs wanted desperately to tend to his SFA, but others could do that… He faced the door; the moment the first bullet hit it, he'd start firing the rifle through it. Tim faced the other door, preparing to do the same thing. "How are they?" they spoke over their shoulders at the same time.

"Drew will be fine provided I can slow the bleeding," Ziva said calmly. "It is a through and through, and has hit minor arteries but not the femoral one. I hope Cole will also recover-"

"What?" Drew said through clenched teeth. "I thought…"

"He is not dead. The bullet creased the back of his skull, but did not penetrate. He is showing signs of regaining consciousness. How is Tony?"

Ria was terse. "Upper right chest, through and through, back to front. It seems as if the bullet punched a hole through his shoulder blade. I'm trying to stop the bleeding from two wounds, and –"

A bullet slammed into the door from the living room. Tim took aim at the same spot and fired. This time the bullet passed through, and Tim was gratified to hear a yell of pain from the other side. Lying flat on the floor, he moved the bedstead across to cover the area.

Gibbs turned. Ziva and Ria were shielding the wounded men with their own bodies; they sat up slowly. "Nice work, McGee," Gibbs said quietly. His eyes rested briefly on his Senior Field Agent, lying still underneath Ria's beautiful, ruined black coat that was wet with his blood; her four hundred dollar silk shirt was spattered red as well, she didn't seem to care. Drew looked very much alive, his eyes were on his pal, he seemed to have forgotten his own pain.

All this Gibbs read in an instant; he turned his attention back to guarding the door. He could hear voices on the outside, one was yelling so hard he could hear the red face even though he couldn't see it. "Break it down! Break the goddamn thing down!" He let a couple of rounds through the top panel; they went through easily.

There was a yelp, a string of profanities, and a different voice said, "Sod that. You break it down yourself, Lieutenant. I'm done here" Gibbs fired off another round, through the same hole, as Tim had done.

"'Nother nice shot…" Tony said thickly, roused by the noise, and Gibbs felt a surge of relief and pride, but then the Italian's head lolled back on Ria's lap. It had gone quiet outside, and at that moment, Gibbs' phone buzzed.

"Leon," he greeted the Director sharply. "A bit of help wouldn't come amiss here."

Fornell's voice said, "OK, Jethro, how about now?"

Tony muttered, "Chopper," and they all realised that the sound had been on the edge of their hearing before they consciously registered it.

Vance came on the phone. "Jethro. You OK?"

"Three hurt, one serious. And one walking wounded. You got medics coming I hope."

"Oh yes. H-"

"What's going on outside?"

"Oh, you can come out now. They're being rounded up as we speak. How's my nephew?"

"I'm fine, Uncle Lee." Gibbs held the cell phone near him. "I got a bullet in my leg, but Special Agent DiNozzo saved my life."

Gibbs shot the young man a grateful look. It was good that in the midst of his own pain he remembered the man who'd saved him. But of course DiNozzo could never let things lie.

"Had t'save you… let y'get hurt…" Fortunately Vance was speaking and didn't hear the muttered self-reproach.

"Who's serious then?"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said shortly. "Got shot saving Drew. Where are these medics, Leon?"

It was Tim who climbed slowly to his feet and began opening doors. He still kept his Sig ready, until he saw Fornell coming through the shattered front door.

"Well, McGee, looks like you've been having all the fun."

"Nice to see you, too, Fornell," Tim said, with his first smile all day, as he knocked the sofa right way up and started unblocking the windows to let the light in. He knew what Gibbs would do. Fornell frowned as his friend carried his SFA in, in his arms, and laid him on the sofa, and winced as he heard Gibbs' knees popping with the effort.

"The _medics, _Tobias? Oh, and thanks for coming."

He looked at Tony, lying on the settee, twisting his head as the pain jabbed at him. Seemed like only minutes ago he was sitting in front of the same settee, his arm around the woman who was now beside him, tending him… it would be Tony… it was always Tony…and the confrontation couldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes, start to finish. Gibbs sighed, and went to look down at his agent.

"Hey, Boss, did they get them all?"

"Oh, yeah, Tony. Oh yeah."

The EMTs arrived then; Gibbs spoke to Fornell for a while, then went looking for Vance. He found him where he waited beside his nephew, as he lay on a gurney alongside his friend Cole on another one. Both young men were sleepy from medication, but doing well; the decision had been taken to airlift the three injured men, and send injured attackers, under arrest, by road ambulance.

Gibbs went back to Tony, who had by now been set up for the trip, and was also sleepy from the meds, but still conscious enough to pout when he heard what his Boss had to say.

"Tony…" First name – always meant trouble. "I'm going to send Ziva with you, OK? I know you'd kind of like Ria to go, but I need her. Kinda wish you could come too, but arresting Wilson and his cronies won't wait… and it's only fair that she gets to see it."

Ria looked torn. "Go on," Tony said softly. "Reckon I'm for surgery anyway…do it for Gray… then make sure… ya come back, see me…"

She kissed her fingertips, put them on his lips, and left with tears in her eyes.

**AN: Can't believe it… never done it in my life before… two chapters in one day. Two chapters? I'll settle for one review if you like…**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Apologies for the rash of typo mistakes in the last 2 chapters. I did check back, but still managed to miss a lot. Also, apols for not translating the Italian. I don't like to patronise, you're not daft, and most of it spoke for itself anyway, but maybe I should have mentioned the one unusual bit. Probably too late now, but il alba di s ancora simply means it's not daybreak yet. Actually, nobody's complained…**

The Woman in Black

Chapter 8

He was alone when he woke up. His chest felt utterly heavy, and there was an oxygen tube under his nose, but, oh joy, he wasn't on a ventilator. There were no voices, and no sensation of his hand being held; but, he realised, that was OK. He knew why Gibbs - and Ria - weren't around; McGee would have gone too, and he hoped, oh, he hoped they were enjoying what they were doing. "Wish you could take pictures for me," he'd told Tim, before they'd loaded him into the helicopter.

Ziva would be somewhere about; in sending her with him, Gibbs had ensured she'd get treatment for her own injuries… As he prised his eyes open, the first thing he focussed on was her jacket on the bedside chair. He smiled… it no longer felt terrible to wake up alone in a hospital bed. The sense of abandonment that had been laid down in his childhood was no longer there; driven away by the knowledge that he'd been chosen, irrevocably, by an eccentric family that had created itself with love, that was _never_ far away.

Hospitals no longer held that fear for Tony DiNozzo, and when Ziva returned a few moments later, although his eyes were closed, he was smiling.

"Hmm… Tony… Are you dreaming about the beautiful Signorina Del Giudice?"

He opened his eyes slowly, and the lazy smile didn't fade. "Hey… I plan to, but no. How long have I been out?"

"You were injured before seven o'clock this morning; it is now eight o'clock in the evening. The surgery was successful, and you will make a complete recovery. If you are co-operative, of course."

"I'm always co-operative. I am _the _definitive poster boy for co-operation."

She put a finger on his lips. "You talk too much. I have been told not to allow you to."

He lifted a hand with an effort, and pointed to the dressings, under the corner of her jaw and on her temple. "You OK?"

Ziva smiled now. "I am fine, Tony. Dealing with incompetent would-be squatters –"

'_Squatters? Oh…SWATters_…'

"Was no problem at all, compared with fighting off young Officer Archer."

"_Cole_?" Tony's grin broadened.

"Oh, yes. They are keeping him overnight for observation, and I do believe he wanted me to lie there and cuddle him all night. I told him I must come back to be with you. He wanted to know what you had that he hadn't, to have 'two gorgeous women making a fuss over you'. He says I saved his life, and he intends to thank me. Ah, the fine enthusiasm of a younger man… Drew is with him, and sends his best wishes." It was the wrong thing to say. Damn. She observed how his grin dissolved, and his determination to bring it back.

"So… Ziva has a willing young stud…" He was trying, but she could see his heart wasn't in it. Gibbs had warned her that this would be Tony's reaction, and she was not surprised. They all knew his capacity for self blame, and for a moment she found herself back on the Seahawk, seeing him for the first time in three months. She didn't want him to go to that dark place again.

"Tony, I do not think anything I can say will change how you feel, I will leave that to Gibbs and Director Vance; but I was there, you recall, and I _saw_ what happened. Drew has told his uncle that you saved his life, even though it meant admitting that he froze for a moment. Enough, already." She knew that expression amused him, although in all honesty she had never heard a Jewish person use it.

It worked; enough to distract him, or at least to give him something to distract himself with. "He's all right, then? Drew?"

"He is fine, Tony. He will be allowed to go home tomorrow, as will Cole, providing they behave. His father is making a great show of being more angry about the destruction of his car, but I have caught good feelings, not just from the LaSalle family, but also from everyone I have spoken to."

She paused, and took his hand in both of hers, leaning in towards him a little as she warmed to her subject. "Gibbs called Ducky, and Ducky called Brad Pitt, who saw to it that a _very_ senior thoracic surgeon was called in to repair your lung, which he has apparently done impeccably. I was speaking to the great man while you were in recovery," she went on excitedly, "and he was using splendid metaphors… He talked of lancing the city's boils, and excising its gangrene, cutting out its many cancers…"

"Ecch. I think I feel sick!" Tony said with feeling. "Zi, can I have a drink of water?"

"You making the patient worse, Agent David?" Tony looked up from the cup Ziva was holding for him, with a welcoming smile for his Boss and Tim, which faded somewhat when he saw Vance, Fornell, another black man whose tall, rangy elegance marked him as Drew's father, and no Ria. He put a brave face on it.

"Hey, Boss… is the Slug dead then?"

"Oh, yeah. And lots of little baby slugs too."

Fornell spoke in that gravely way of his. "All over the city you can hear the deafening whine of shredders overheating. The ramifications will go on for years. There's already talk of a Congressional Committee, the president wants to be updated twice daily, a multi-agency task force will be set up… all basically because of what you guys did today."

Tony was stung. "What about what Oriana Del Giudice's been doing, _alone_, for the past four years? The trigger for what we – and she – did today?"

Fornell held his hands out placatingly. "I hadn't forgotten that, DiNotzo," he said gently. "Rest easy. Get well, and watch the sparks." He left them to it.

A short, slightly portly man in an expensive pin-stripe suit entered the room at that moment, accompanied by two junior medics and a nurse. "Ah," he said. "You're awake, Special Agent DiNozzo. I am your surgeon, Professor Dunbar." He shook Tony's hand, and looked at the other occupants of the room. "Special Agent David warned me that this was how it would be. I need to examine Mr. DiNozzo, so if you please, gentlemen, and Miss David, I should like privacy. You may return for a while when I have finished, then the patient must get his rest."

Tony had to smile at the way the Director and the MCRT meekly headed towards the door. Evan LaSalle was made of sterner stuff. "I'll leave you in peace, Spe –"

"Tony."

"Tony." He grasped the agent's hand. "But my son got into deep water today, and you saved him."

"Your son was a hero, Mr. LaSalle."

"It took another hero to save him. Thank you." With a nod to the surgeon, he left.

When the Professor was done, as the nurse re-dressed the wounds in Tony's chest and back and helped him back into the gown, he said, "Everything is excellent. You may return to DC with your colleagues when they depart. _But_," he stressed before Tony could bounce too much, "You will travel in a wheelchair, and check in to Bethesda, where Bradley will take over your care. He tells me he knows you well. It will be his decision when to discharge you."

Tony smiled. "Not a problem, Prof. I'll just be glad not to be left behind."

When the four colleagues returned to the room, it was clear that Tony was fading.

"DiNozzo," the Director said without preamble, "They tell me you're trying to take the blame for my nephew's injury." Tony opened his mouth, but Vance didn't let him get a word in. "Don't want to hear it." The man in the bed was glad he wasn't standing up, he was sure his legs would have gone to jelly. Another screw-up, and the Director was clearly warming up to something.

"Drew's already told me what happened. He said he wouldn't have gone if his friend hadn't already charged off. I spoke to Officer Archer, and I quote: 'Well, I saw a beautiful woman in distress, so I dashed out. Didn't think. No way anyone would have expected me to do a fool thing like that, not even DiNozzo.'"

The Director paused, with a grimace. "'Although he'd go and rescue a pretty woman, woudn't he? I wanna be like him when I grow up.' He's got a lot of growing up to _do_, clearly. Anyway, I knew very well that it wasn't your fault well before I spoke to him, so I don't want to hear any more of this nonsense, is that clear?"

"Clear, Sir."

"Good job, DiNozzo." He left.

Ziva said, "I will leave you to rest, Tony." She kissed her partner's forehead and waited for Tim in the doorway.

The younger agent looked down at his colleague. "Always one of us with a bump or a bruise," he said.

Tony nodded cheerfully. "You did good, McGee."

"We did good, Tony." He joined Ziva and they went out quietly.

Gibbs had watched in silence. This letting go of the day was a vital catharsis for all of them, and he felt weary himself. There would be no basement, boat, or bourbon tonight, to help expunge the memory of his SFA dragging a bleeding young man to safety, or the sudden weight of his surrogate son falling into his arms.

"We do too much of this, Tony."

"It's what we do, Boss. How would we change it?"

"I know the deal. We're the ones who do it, so the others don't have to. Ya saying we should just suck it up?"

"It's usually you telling me this, Boss. Tim's right. We did good today. An unbelievable amount when you think about it." He tried a joke. "Even for modest superheroes like us."

"Yeah, we did."

"Where's Ria, Boss?"

"She was on the phone to her family for a while… they're pretty volatile from what I heard of it. It's a good job they didn't know she was in danger until she was safe! Then she got trapped by some big noises downstairs. She's on her way as soon as she can. Get some sleep; I'll sit with you until she comes."

Tony nodded, but he held his hand out, palm up. Gibbs put his hand in it firmly, and Tony gripped it. "G'night, Boss," he said softly.

Did he feel the hand being patted and tucked under the bedclothes? Did Gibbs actually say "Sleep, Son," or did he mis-hear as he began to doze?

When he woke again, the hospital lights weren't bright through his eyelids, and there was a hand in his. He opened his eyes; only the night lighting was on, and Ria sat with her eyes closed, her chin on her hand and her elbow on the bed. She was wearing an FBI jumpsuit. He squeezed her hand, and she opened her eyes and smiled.

"Hey…"

"Hey yourself."

"Did you get him?"

"Didn't Gibbs tell you?"

"He said the Slug was dead. But I think he left it for you to tell."

"Fornell made the arrest… Wilson tried to pull a gun. I got to stick mine in his guts. I was still covered in your blood. He thought I was going to kill him, but I told him Gray wouldn't have wanted me to descend to his level…and…he crapped his pants."

"You're kidding!"

"Oh, no. There's lots more to tell – I wish you could have seen it. But I'll be able to tell you…"

Her eyes glinted, and Tony said, "What??"

"The multi agency task force… they're putting me in charge of Intelligence."

His heart leapt. "Based where?"

She leaned over and kissed his lips very softly. "DC," she whispered.

The End

**AN: Trish, that wasn't too much romance, was it?**


End file.
